


A Hell For Peter Lukas: Kayaking Edition

by Shaeydyrllah



Series: The Crack Archives [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Afterlife, Crack, Elias too, Gen, Humour, Kayaking, Let's torture Peter with social interaction, Peter and Tim go kayaking, Peter hates people, Since it is the afterlife, Someone take my laptop away, Spoilers for Episode 159, The Magnus Archives Bloopers, exactly what it looks like, it is implied, kinda major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22353874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaeydyrllah/pseuds/Shaeydyrllah
Summary: Peter Lukas and Tim Stoker go kayaking.'His own death...the agony of being known, torn apart piece by piece and inspected by Elias’s pet.“Oh, don’t look like that.” Tim clapped him on the back loudly with a little too much force causing Peter to recoil from his touch. “It was difficult for all of us when we first came here. You’ll get through it, I’m sure all of the others are dying to meet you.” He gave a short laugh as Peter’s complexion grew more pallid, “You’ll fit right in with the rest of us.”'
Relationships: Peter Lukas & Elias Bouchard, Sasha James & Tim Stoker, Tim Stoker & Peter Lukas
Series: The Crack Archives [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636318
Comments: 15
Kudos: 201





	A Hell For Peter Lukas: Kayaking Edition

**Author's Note:**

> I can only say that the bloopers are to blame for this garbage fire disaster

The cloying scent of dirt and sun-baked grass was the first thing that Peter Lukas became aware of. The second thing he noticed after opening his eyes and squinting up at the early morning sun was a face peering down at him. The figure was craning over his supine form, a strange intensity burned in his mahogany eyes before a smile crossed his face, far too full of wicked glee to be overtly friendly. This place was not his beloved Lonely, nor was it the deserted seas and rolling fog he was accustom to.

“Hello there!” The man greeted him cheerfully. He held out a hand offering to pull Peter up. Peter couldn’t remember deciding to take a nap, especially somewhere so open in what seemed to be a _public_ garden. With a grimace he declined the hand and pulled himself to his feet, he offered a strained smile of his own in the hopes that that would satiate the other man’s need for social pleasantries.

“You’re Peter Lukas aren’t you?” The man continued, completely ignorant of the hostility that Peter was attempting to project at him.

Peter was not a morning person; he wasn’t any kind of person really, the less he had to do with the whole categorisation of people the better. Upon closer scrutiny, Peter realised he knew the face of the man smiling at him; he had made himself familiar with a number of files pertinent to The Magnus Institute.

“Tim Stoker, I presume.” Peter once again attempted to look friendly, there was a flash of too many teeth as he quickly tried to remind his zygomaticus muscles to cooperate and give the closest approximation of a smile.

There was an odd flicker in Tim’s eyes before he once again offered his hand to Peter, said Avatar of the Lonely coughed loudly into the palm of his right hand in the hopes that this would dissuade Tim’s gesture of greeting. He was satisfied when Tim withdrew his hand; the former Institute employee narrowed his eyes slightly before giving another charming grin. “I’m afraid I never had the pleasure of meet you, what with dying and all. Not to worry, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other.”

Peter froze. Of course, Tim Stoker had died in the effort to stop the Unknowing Ritual. He’d died an angry and bitter man on a destructive path of vengeance.

His own death...the agony of being known, torn apart piece by piece and inspected by Elias’s pet.

“Oh, don’t look like that.” Tim clapped him on the back loudly with a little too much force causing Peter to recoil from his touch. “It was difficult for all of us when we first came here. You’ll get through it, I’m sure all of the others are _dying_ to meet you.” He gave a short laugh as Peter’s complexion grew more pallid, “You’ll fit right in with the rest of us.”

~0~

After vehemently rejecting Tim’s offer to show him around, Peter decided to follow the pathway out of the denser area of trees.

What a strange place he had found himself in. Lowercase ‘strange’ as opposed to ‘Strange,’ things could have been worse. Was this it? Everyone dies and ends up in some overgrown garden that clearly wasn’t keeping up with seasonal trends. He had been a servant of the Lonely, he had ruined lives and sown fear and anguish throughout the entire world...or at least the smaller corners of the world where he could pick off the odd person. Where did that leave him?

Rewarded for serving his Patron?

Punished for failing to pull off a ritual of his own?

No, he was in the middle of the countryside _with_ Tim Stoker of all people, a man he’d never interacted with before and had never desired to.

Peter adjusted the brim of his hat and attempted to shield his eyes from the sun, in the distance there was a small white vehicle. As he drew closer he noticed it was an old fashioned ice cream van, along the side of the van there were flames on the paintwork, a tad incongruous in his opinion. A petite woman peered out of the van, her blazing red hair fanned out in a halo around her as she calmly regarded Peter.

He immediately wanted to flee, wanted to melt away into the shadows of obscurity, but it would seem his Lonely Membership had expired along with his life. He hated locking eyes with the woman but felt too uncomfortable to walk away and pretend he hadn’t seen her. In her left hand, she held a small ice cream cone; she alternated between prodding the ice cream while giving it a satisfied look and watching Peter curiously.

“I’ve never had ice cream before.” She commented, “I rather enjoy the sensation...’cold’...mmh” She bit into it. What kind of _monster_ bites ice cream? Peter did not know. Her face was familiar too, in the abstract friend of a friend of a friend recursion kind of way, if Peter had had friends that is.

“Oi, Agnes! You’re out of chocolate,” bellowed a gratingly deep voice with a ridiculously fake Cockney accent.

“Do you want us to pick up some more?” Added a similar voice.

Ah, it was those two.

There were two bulky figures with nothing in common in facial features but their height and stature were alarmingly similar. They wore worn overalls with a faded logo that Peter could barely make out but knew anyway. Who hadn’t heard of Breekon and Hope? They emerged from the back of the van with a crate that Peter half suspected was full of discarded flesh or some other meagre remnant of a lesser Entity.

How many people were here, in this ‘afterlife?’ Was it just avatars? Were there more people?

“Would you like an ice cream?” Agnes asked sweetly.

“No thank you,” Peter replied, he had better things to do, like work out what the hell he was doing here. Maybe this was all some Spiral induced delusion.

Breekon and Hope moved as one, their arms crossed firmly over their chests, the one with darker hair scowled at him whilst the one with the gingery moustache shared a look with Agnes.

“Dairy Queen sells quality ice cream, pal.” One of them boomed, Peter took a hesitant step backward, he nervously brushed away imaginary lint from his long navy jacket.

“Nah, I reckon, Walls is better value for money.” The other one argued

“Then again, I get a discount on Ben and Jerry’s.”

Peter ended up trapped in a thirty-minute conversation debating the merits of different ice cream brands.

Well, he was more of a passive viewer that was occasionally threatened into giving a monosyllabic answer here and there while wishing that fog would shroud the hatefully sunny skies so he could fade away.

~0~0~

Peter was relieved to escape from the ice cream obsessed lunatics, his eyes eagerly drank in the sight of the tranquil lake before him, its smooth serenity promised peace and quiet.

An enormous black dog bounded out of nowhere and submerged itself in the lake, it eventually padded out, its heavy coat thoroughly drenched, and subsequently decided to shake all of the water out of its fur right in front of Peter. Man’s best friend, Peter scoffed even here he couldn’t be rid of the overly friendly beasts.

A woman rushed up to him, panting for breath. Her long purple hair escaped her hairband in untidy wisps around her face. She leaned over for a moment catching her breath before grinning at Peter. If all-consuming joy and friendliness were predicates of being in the afterlife then Peter wanted to be thrown out right this second.

“Jasper,” She chided the dog affectionately, “Sorry about that, he’s a bit energetic. I’m Sasha by the way.”

Sasha James, another of Elias’s...unwitting associates. At least he had put in the effort to recruit Martin; Elias was a lazy bastard that got everyone else to do his work for him.

“Right, well I best be off.” He responded curtly, he had spent far too much time making nice with these people. Without an immediate means of escape and the active ability to send irritating people away Peter was rather stuck.

He didn’t think he could be killed a second time in the afterlife but he didn’t want to push his luck and end up somewhere worse like being trapped among the souls of The Flesh. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than being forced to meld with another person within The Hive; disease-riddled skin against his own and a head full of thoughts that belonged to another, ugh.

“I’ll see you around Peter.” With a wave, she took off jogging with her mutt in tow.

He had not given her his name. He had not given her anything. Why did all of these disgustingly saccharine people know who he was?

“Making friends, Peter?” Asked a snide voice. A tall woman in checked pantaloons and a magenta pointed hat smirked at him from behind her small mountain of candyfloss. She moved stiffly in short jerky movements, the only thing that gave away her lack of humanity.

“Go away, Nikola.”

~0~0~0~

Peter let out a soft sigh. The muscles in his arms ached pleasantly with a dull burn as he sunk his oar into the cool depths of the lake. Maybe it wasn’t all bad being dead, he could adjust. Even still, he longed for the Tundra, his beloved ship, and wonderfully absent crew.

“Hey, Peter.” Chimed a horrifyingly familiar voice.

Peter’s head whipped around so fast he felt his neck click, massaging it furiously he shot a glare at the passenger behind him. Tim _bloody_ Stoker.

Generally, the kayaks that Peter was familiar with only had room for one person, however the one he borrowed from the thankfully absent quay possessed a second seat, a seat which had been empty up until this moment.

Had Peter’s lack of social skills finally progressed into flat out blanking out the existence of other people?

“How...did you get here?” He asked, calmly. As oblivious as he was, there was no way that Tim Stoker had wadded out into the lake and hauled himself on board without him noticing.

Tim leaned back in the kayak and cracked his knuckles in an obnoxiously loud manner. He shot Peter a lazy grin before plunging a single finger into the lake and casting gentle ripples across the surface. “I just felt a bit cooped up indoors and fancied some company, I hope you don’t mind.” The man’s smile was a little too innocent. “And you are such excellent company.” Tim dragged his eyes up and down Peter’s ragged weather-beaten form flirtatiously.

Peter gritted his teeth, he knew little about his current situation and antagonising a potential ally would be an act of folly. “Not at all.”

Peter caught the flicker of amusement in Tim’s eyes. He would not allow one of The Eye’s children to get under his skin. He could endure this.

“Great!” Peter’s passenger made no attempt to assist him in manoeuvring the kayak; he only shot insidious little smiles and idly braided the ends of his long hair.

“So, you like boats?” Tim prodded.

Captain Peter Lukas of The Tundra let out a long-suffering sigh.

~0~0~0~0~

With a splitting headache and a dawning fear that he’d never escape Tim Stoker, Peter managed to trip over thin air when stepping out of the long green kayak. Only to be caught by firm arms with complicated fractal scars running along his forearms.

“Careful,” spoke the man who had caught him, icy blonde hair partially obscured the eye with the jagged scar. “You wouldn’t want to fall.” Peter shook off the warm grip of the man holding him up and brushed the outside of his coat as if it would mitigate the lingering sensation of human touch.

He gave a curt nod before hurrying away with an overly eager Tim Stoker racing behind to match his stride.

“Peter, do you want to go bird watching?” Tim asked brightly.

Peter felt his face try to invent a new expression somewhere between the cosmic horror of death at the hands of another entity and sheer social awkwardness.

“I would prefer some time to myself if you wouldn’t mind.” Peter managed to choke out, Tim Stoker was a whirlwind of incessant speech and relentless movement and he just couldn’t keep up with him.

“Alright.” Tim responded easily, his eyes flickered to the roofs of houses, just barely visible past the oak trees. “See you around.”

Peter wanted to be relieved but had the dawning suspicion this wouldn’t be the last he’d see of Tim Stoker.

~0~0~0~0~0~

“How much longer do you think he’ll last?” Sasha blew on her pumpkin spiced latte, a gentle puff of steam rose up and fogged up her glasses briefly.

Tim leaned across the table, drinking in the sight of his friend. Sometimes it was hard to force himself to look away. Each moment he spent with Sasha was used to engrave her image into his mind as deeply as was possible.

He looked contemplative for a moment, “Oh, I hope he lasts a while longer. We need something to keep us entertained until _Douchard_ dies.”

“How was the kayaking?” Sasha’s warm eyes crinkled at the corners as she noticed the amusement painted across Tim’s face.

“Peter actually said ‘bless you’ when I sneezed, I really think we’re starting to bond.”

~0~0~0~0~0~0~

 **The Library**. There was no other designation attached to the building, just ‘The Library.’ Peter supposed that names became meaningless when you were dead. He found it hard to imagine that there were still multiple food chains competing in the afterlife. Peter hoped that his decision to come to a place of knowledge wasn’t a leftover infection from the blasted Institute and Elias’s influence.

He didn’t miss people.

He didn’t miss Elias.

If he had to be around people at least Libraries were quiet so he could pretend they weren’t there.

As he approached the towering marble arches and the heavy wooden door with the tarnished handle, it suddenly swung open. A tall gangly figure with a head of flowing golden curls peeked out, the door opened more fully to reveal the sight of the person’s ‘adventurous’ fashion choice. Their features were oddly sharp and looking at them was akin to watching 3D films for eleven hours solid with a migraine.

“Distortion.” He greeted them aloofly.

“Captain.” The being's mouth had too many teeth, teeth which all seemed to be canines until Peter shifted his head slightly to the right and from the new angle the mouth seemed normal once again. “Would you like to come inside?” They gestured towards the door.

Peter could feel a muscle twitch in his eyelid. If he couldn’t enter The Lonely from this place then chances were that Michael couldn’t trick him into those damned hallways. Still, if Michael harboured a grudge against him for transporting them to Sannikov Land it might be best not to risk it.

“Oh, hey Peter!” Tim exclaimed excitedly from his left. How did he manage to always appear when he was least wanted? “Do you want to see my new book on fishing? Danny lent it to me.”

Dead or not, Peter would find a way to make them all vanish.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

Peter collapsed into bed that night feeling drained, he twitched ever so slightly and every few seconds his eyes darted around the dull mustard and beige room in fear of spotting another person. Why did he have a house here? Why did he need to sleep? The mysteries of the universe would have to be solved another day, now he could revel in finally having a reprieve from Tim Stoker.

His dreams were full of cool crisp air and amorphous fog with the solid sense of isolation, a strange stability in the presence of the self and the self alone. He was torn from the bliss of his dreams far too soon by the sensation of pressure at the foot of his bed.

Snapping the light on he was greeted by an unexpected sight. Seated precariously on the edge of his bed was a man in a perfectly tailored charcoal three-piece suit. Upon gazing at the man’s face Peter was struck by how odd it was to see a lack of those soul-piercing grey eyes that often haunted his dreams.

“Good morning Peter.” Elias drawled, the man’s eyes were shut tight whilst facing him directly, all that Peter could see was the soft curve of his dark lashes and the heavy crease of his brow.

Peter immediately drew his legs up under the cover, moving his limbs as far away from the disturbance seated before him.

“What on earth happened to your eyes?”

Elias’s face screwed up into an expression of distaste, “Seeing as you are the one with eyes, I think that you are more than capable of deducing what happened.”

Peter flicked his lamp off, he was too tired to deal with this, it was the ugly cheap floral pattern kind often found in the homes of the elderly. Elias’s head orientated to the click of the switch before returning to look at Peter, or more accurately over his left shoulder at the bizarre triangle patterned wallpaper.

“So you’re dead then,” Peter stated, he found it hard to muster any sense of sympathy. Elias had sent Jon into The Lonely for a reason; he had to have known the damage that the Archivist’s questions would do. “I thought you had a flawless plan befitting the Heart of The Beholding.” He mocked.

Elias sucked in a deep breath; his body went rigid for a moment before deliberately relaxing. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Share and share alike Elias, your patron enjoys the exchange of knowledge.” As much as he wanted Elias to leave, he couldn’t help but revel in the man’s extremely apparent dismay. Just knowing that Elias was all alone, isolated from the reach of The Eye sent a deep rush of satisfaction through him.

They both stiffened when there was a thunderous clang downstairs; there was a long moment of silence before they could both register the quiet murmur of voices from below. Peter reached for the lamp that was a crime against nature while Elias shuffled along the bed so he was closer to him. With a rough shove Peter knocked Elias off the bed, he landed with an undignified yelp and glowered at Peter as he pulled himself to his feet.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” called an unrepentantly joyful Tim. The overhead light flickered to life.

The woman with the dog he’d seen earlier, Sasha, stood beside the man in the doorway and helped him steady the tray he held, laden with what seemed to be a cooked breakfast.

“Oh, you have a guest. If we’d known we would have made more food.” Sasha added.

Wonderful, Peter had two stalkers now.

“If it isn’t our old friend Elias.” Tim continued, he exchanged an inscrutable look with Sasha.

“It is so very nice to see you again.” Tim laughed as Sasha very pointedly looked over at a puzzled Elias whose face was beginning to look sickly. “I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me.” Sasha’s apology rang false.

Elias, who had learnt better than to expect Peter to protect him, raised his hands in a calming gesture. “I realise there is a lot for us to discuss regar-”

“No.” Peter interrupted, “You’re not doing this in my room. Have your little reunion somewhere else where you can commiserate about the good old times where you tried to stab each other in the back.” He put the lamp down; it made a heavy clunk against the bedside cabinet.

“But we made you breakfast Peter.” Tim pouted, a look that sent shudders of horror through Peter who tried to avert his gaze.

“Nevermind.” Sasha squeezed Tim’s free hand. “We should all have a picnic later, we can talk things over. I hear that Gertrude knows a lot of out of the way spots where we can’t be overheard. Like really isolated, the kind of place you go to...I don’t know...hide a body? Only kidding.” She smirked at Elias whose face twitched at the mention of his former Archivist; no doubt he was excited to catch up with her.

Tim placed the tray on the edge of the duvet, Elias startled at the sound of footsteps moving closer. Tim 'accidentally' bumped into him as he moved away from the bed.

“I have a better idea.” Tim sneered at Elias, all pretence of warmth vanishing in an instant. “I hear there’s a monument, up by the old swimming pool. Apparently, those who look upon it gain all kinds of arcane knowledge. Sounds like a great picnic spot.”

Sasha shrugged, “I’m not really into that sort of thing but I suppose it could pass the time.” Neither of them missed the reddening of Elias’s face as the fury carefully contained by his duplicitous mask started to leak out. Their former boss let out a sound somewhere between a strangled hiss of rage and a whine of soul-crushing disappointment.

“Later, guys,” Shouted Tim as he left with Sasha.

Peter sat back down on the bed, he covered his face with one hand and let out a groan. “Why won’t they leave me alone, what did I ever do to them?”

The added weight returned to his bed as Elias made himself comfortable beside him. “Peter...you will describe this monument to me won’t you?” Peter gave no indication he’d heard Elias’s thinly veiled demand, under a layer of sickening camaraderie. “It would be in your best interest if we came to some kind of arrangement regarding your guests.”

“This is all your fault.” Peter stated, “If I had never been roped into your filthy people infested Institute...”

“Yes, yes you’d be happily skipping along some misty beach, cackling in glee as you separate some newly married couple and throw them into The Lonely.” Elias interrupted, condescendingly. “Tolerating a bit of company now and then really isn’t as inconvenient as...I don’t know...losing your sight.”

“Oh, do shut up Elias!” He snapped.


End file.
